


moon over sun

by exvalk (pastel)



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastel/pseuds/exvalk
Summary: The brief aftermath of an argument between third-year Tomoya and Mitsuru.Written for Fictober 2020 prompt, "No, Come back!"
Relationships: Mashiro Tomoya/Tenma Mitsuru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	moon over sun

**Author's Note:**

> This can be taken as gen or ship fic, whatever you prefer!
> 
> Set when they're third-years, so they're a little bit more mature than how we know them now! (With a few headcanons of mine about Ra*bits as they get older...)
> 
> Prompt: "No, come back!"

So much has changed, and so little. Three years they’ve known each other, and yet—

The sight of Mitsuru running off hurts much more than it had the first time that it happened. This time, he doesn’t chase after him.

The acid and bite of an insult dies in his mouth, leaving only his tongue and stale air.

The streets near ES are empty this late into the evening, sun falling behind boxy buildings and concert stadiums, the moon beginning to become visible.

He’s sick of this, Tomoya thinks. He’s sick of this happening again, and again, and again. At first it had been misunderstanding, the clash of personalities that didn’t know each other yet, and then it was willful, poking and prodding at bruises to see how much things could hurt. Now it just feels like betrayal, cold, an easy escape.

Tomoya may not be much — there are three thousand fewer results when you Google his name than Mitsuru’s, and then a gap of ten thousand between him and Hajime, and who knows how many more Nazuna has — but hell if he hasn’t learned to _hold on_. To keep trying, even past the point of stupidity, white-knuckled and hands bleeding, because he wants to. He wants it.

Maybe that had been what Wataru was trying to teach him all along. Probably not. Who knows.

With lungs trained by the stage, meant to reach even the back row, Tomoya shouts down the street. “No, Mitsuru, come _back!_ ”

It’s getting darker by the minute, but he thinks he can see — Mitsuru slows down, ever so slightly. He hasn’t been running at full-speed, or he would’ve been out of sight long ago.

“Come back, Mitsuru,” He repeats, “I’m not gonna chase after you this time.”

It’s not an empty threat. He won’t, but he’ll stand here and wait until Mitsuru makes his decision.

Mitsuru turns around.

He looks kind of like he belongs in a movie, like this. A modern day prince, the kind that Tomoya wasn’t sure if he wanted to be, or if he just _wanted_. He’s grown up well over the years, Mitsuru has. He’s very tall now, leanly muscled from all the athletics and dancing. Messy in all the right ways, the perfect jock archetype for Ra*bits’ gradual shift to a boys-next-door concept. The kind who’s a little dumb, but good at sports, handsome in a boyish kind of way, and most importantly, always smiling.

That frown looks so wrong on his face.

And then Mitsuru’s barrelling at him, as fast as Tomoya’s ever seen him run, practically flying over the pavement. He knocks right into Tomoya, and they stay upright by some miracle of physics, Tomoya’s braced knees and Mitsuru’s fine-tuned control over his own body.

His tears are hot and wet against Tomoya’s cheek and then his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Tomo-chan, I just—”

Tomoya’s brain finally catches up to the moment, and he wraps his arms around Mitsuru, too. It’s familiar, it feels right. Much better than just a moment ago, that unhappy look it Mitsuru’s eyes.

“I don’t know what happened, I just started running,” Mitsuru pulls back to look Tomoya in the eye, face red with emotion, “I’m so sorry, I know I haven’t done that in months, years, I…”

Somehow, Tomoya finds that he’s smiling, tears of his own welling up unbidden. “It’s okay,” he says, breaking into soft, anxious laughter, “You came back, so,” he leans forward into Mitsuru’s chest, out of words to say.

Surprisingly, Mitsuru doesn’t just squeeze him and laugh something like, “Yup! I did!” like Tomoya expects him to. He does hold him again, a little too tightly to be comfortable, but instead Tomoya hears a mutter of, “Well, yeah, but still…” that he’s not sure he was meant to hear.

A lot really has changed, hasn’t it. Tomoya’s tears stop, and a small, tight smile replaces them. The moon rises, the streetlamps come on, he pulls away from Mitsuru.

“Let’s head back,” he says, voice gentle. “It’s getting late.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudo and/or a comment if you enjoyed! I love to talk about MitsuTomo or anything enst related ^_____^


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